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An Inn For 
Journey inglThou 




RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 



Copyright, 191a, by William J. Roe 



All Risrhts Reserved 



The Gorhah Press, Boston, U. S, a. 



4 1 0^ titi^j 

(0)CI.A328187 



In loving memory of my wife 

MARY STUART NORTON ROE 

whose never failing appreciation of 
my work was always an inspiration 



CONTENTS 

Part I 

Page 

A Poet II 

Fairy Thought 12 

Valor 14 

The Winter Sea 15 

The Unbeliever 16 

Woman 17 

Alpenglow 18 

Night 19 

The Moon was Low 20 

Fairy Tales 21 

White Truth 22 

The Lost Sword 23 

Theiss of the Monterey 26 

Five Years 28 

The Islander 29 

Song of the Machine 30 

5 



CONTENTS 

Part II — Devotional 

Page 

The Christ 35 

Anthem — No King but God 36 

"They Have Taken Away the Lord" 37 

The Day of Judgment 38 

The Black Wolf's Key 39 

The Continuing City 41 

In His Princely Place 43 

City of the Stranger's Gate 45 

The Usurper's Assassin 46 

Immortality 49 

Progress 50 

Part III — Mystic, Metaphysical and Intel- 
lectual. 

Left With the Flowers 53 

The Cavern of the Enchanted Truths 55 

My Soul 57 

Out of the Great Tribulation 58 

The Seal 59 

The Argonaut , 60 

6 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Asteroid 6i 

The Natural Body 63 

In the Garden of God 64 

Alcyone 65 

Sleep 66 

Evolution 67 

The Babes of Themis 68 

Polaris 69 

Part IV — Humorous 

Sprinkled Rhymes 73 

A September Idyl 74 

Puzzled 75 

Character 76 

Ambition 77 

Signs and Wonders 78 

Burglar Alarms 81 

The Same Old Choice 84 

Co-operation 85 

How Man Came to be Lord of Creation 86 

7 



CONTENTS 

Part V — Juvenile 

Page 

Nan's White World 89 

Clematis 91 

Bumble Words 93 

The Land of Upside Down 95 

Little Columbus 96 

"To Make You Wise" 97 

The Critics 98 

Recognition 100 



INN FOR JOURNEYING THOUGHTS 



A POET 

A poet, like a child astray, 
Hears a voice calling far away. 
With something friendly in the tone 
He does not wish — nor dare — disown. 

What voice it is he does not know ; — 
Enough, 'tis happiness to go; 
Yet troubled lest his gladsome cry 
Be to the voice no fit reply. 



n 



FAIRY THOUGHT 

One morn a fairy came to my door, 
One I had never beheld before. 
Sweet she was as all fairies are, 
Bright her looks as the morning star. 
Robed in a beautiful spirit dress. 
Woven from heaven's loveliness. 

"Tarry with me, dear Thought," I cried, 
"Come now to my heart and be my bride." 
"I come from the wonderful overhead. 
"Are you the poet I seek?" she said. 
Oh! love would never be love unless 
All else forgetting. I answered, "Yes." 

Then in a moment around her slipt 
A dainty garment of manuscript. 
I know my wooing was coarse and crude, 
My words of welcome abrupt and rude. 
She struggled a moment in sad surprise, 
With quivering lips and tearful eyes. 

"Why do you weep, dear Thought," I said, 
"Do you long for the home you left o'erhead? 
I love you, darling." She answered, "No, 
If you loved me better you'd let me go. 
I am immortal, nought else endures; 
But I seek a poet, I can't be yours." 

I knew the truth of the words she said ; 
'Twas only a poet Thought could wed. 
So in a moment the fairy slipt 
Out of my garment of manuscript. 
And flitted away. I clasped instead 
This vesture of words; my Thought had fled. 
12 



Only a rhymer — and yet I keep 

An Inn where journeying thoughts may sleep, 

To tarry awhile, and then away, 

With only longings and dreams for pay, — 

A wayside Inn on the crowded road 

From living atom to living God! 



13 



VALOR 

They said, How brave he was;- 
Holding for death such scorn, 
Leading the hope forlorn; 
But 'twas not bravery; 

He could not fear because 
To live was slavery. 

See, How he shrinks from strife! 

Was e'er such craven born? 

For in the hope forlorn 

They marked his palor. 
Loving, he gave his life; — 

Ah, that was valor. 



14 



THE WINTER SEA 

From horizon to horizon 

The mounted waves ride madly on. 

Their burnished armor gleams afar; 

They leap across the outer bar, 

And o'er the shallow's level plain 

In one long furious gallop strain. 

Up the glacis the dark blue ranks, 

With plumed helms and foam-flecked flanks, 

In one wild onset plunge and leap 

The lusty chargers of the deep. 

But knight and steed go down before 
The stubborn lines that hold the shore. 
They rally even as they fall. 
At the wind's whistling bugle call. 
Again they charge. Oh! never yet 
Were words to such wild music set. 
With flaunting guidons of the foam, 
And white-capped sabres on they come, 
Fearless, and dealing blow for blow — 
All the long winter charging so. 



15 



THE UNBELIEVER 

From all the dreams behind me, 
And all the fears before, 

From dreams of light that blind me 
The darkness shall restore. 

From sullen sound or silence, 

From cruel calm or vi'lence, 

I'll seek the sable islands 

Where thought shall vex no more. 

Free from the glint or glowing, 

To fret or fear no more; 
Before the death-blast blowing 

rU seek the sable shore. 
Beyond the murk and splendor. 
The pageants cold or tender, 
The wan white flags surrender, 

And thought shall vex no more. 



i6 



WOMAN 

What should a woman be? 
At the first all leal and true 
When the song of love sing two. 
What should a woman be 
When her love is pledged to thee? 
All purity. 

What should a woman be 

When the two to one have grown, 
When each heart has found its own ? 
What should a woman be 
When her life is linked to thee? 
Sincerity. 

What should a woman be? 

(Still more love the angels bring; 

Still the song of love they sing.) 
What should a woman be 
When the song of love sing three? 
Maternity. 

So should a woman be; 
And whatever may befall 
Let the song of love sing all; 

So should a woman be, 

So, love, am I to thee — 
Fidelity. 



17 



ALPENGLOW 

A youth stood looking across the lake — 
Across the lake and the sun went down. 

He tarried awhile for the beauty's sake; 
But sighed as he turned again to the town. 

The peaks were high and the sun was low, 
And over the summits he saw the glow. 

All the valley in night was wrapped, 

But the icy mountains were clad in pink. 

Thoughts of the valley asunder snapped; 

He thought the thoughts that the mountains 
think. 

Cared he not when he saw the glow 

That the peaks were high and the sun was low. 

Toiling up on the mountain side 

He whispered: Out of the world I tread. 

Wider the world became, more wide 
Became the wonderful overhead. 

But the sun sank down, and the alpenglow 
Was no longer there in the cruel snow. 



18 



NIGHT 

Night is a sea whose shores 

Are always day; 
Life is a barque whose prow 

Points but one way. 
Upon that silent sea 

Each night we set 
Our sails, and leave the helm 

And then forget. 

No beacons light the shores; 

We show no light. 
An unseen helmsman guides 

Our barque aright. 
So, on the shore of time, 

'Tis always day; 
Life is a barque whose prow 

Points but one way. 



19 



THE MOON WAS LOW 

The moon was low and the night was late 
As we said good-by at the garden gate. 

Across the fields to the silver gloom 

The camp gleamed white like a marble tomb. 

He whispered softly: "At break of day 
I march with the soldiers far away. 

Will you give me a kiss before I go? — 
Just one kiss, MoUie, you can't say no." 

He looked so brave in his shoulder-straps; 
Perhaps it was wrong, — and yet, — perhaps, — 

When he asked for a kiss what could I say? 
'Twere heartless to tell him to ride away. 

Not a word of love had he said till then ; 

My mother had taught me to shun the men — 

A boy like this did my mother mean? — 
He was only twenty, and I sixteen. 

I lifted my lips, and he bent his own — 
A kiss — and I stood by the gate alone. 

He leaped to the saddle; he touched the rein:- 
"Oh! keep my kiss till I come again." 

He rode away in the silver gloom 

To the camp as white as a marble tomb. 

The news came home from the cruel South, 
And the kiss is like death upon my mouth. 
20 



FAIRY TALES 

Outside the furies of the winter battled — the sleet 

and the rain; 
The chilled projectiles of the storm-fiend rattled on 

the window pane. 
In the dim dusk upon my heart reclining, my little 

boy lay there, 
The glowing brands upon his sweet face shining, on 

his pretty hair. 

I told of happiness, — the joy of duty that never 

fails. 
And then of Santa Claus and the beast and beauty, 

— those fairy tales. 
That night a stranger entered uninvited, to kill 

my joy; 
Death, the destroyer, all my heart hopes blighted, 

he took my boy. 



The years have gone — near thirty chill Decembers 

— and another son 
Sits with me in the dusk by glowing embers, — my 

only one. 
His voice is thick, and the noisome breath of liquor 

makes foul the air; 
On bloodshot eyes the fitful fire-gleams flicker — 

on his tangled hair. 

Over a little grave winds wail out yonder, and 

the snowdrifts toss. 
Which is the living one, my heart throbs ponder, 

which the greater loss? 
Ah, life and death, — both God's enduring giving, 

can never fail; 
Death is reality, and this cruel living the fairy tale. 
21 



WHITE TRUTH 

A child who dwelt 'neath clouded skies, 
Where the dull year it always rained, 

Saw the sun glow with sad surprise. 

And cried that all the land was stained. 

So like poor children In the rain, 
Beholding truth too bright to know, 

We cry: — Alas! a stain — a stain! 
^^'^hen glimpses of God's glory glow. 



22 



THE LOST SWORD 

(Read before the Society of the Sons of the Revo 

lution, on the anniversary of the Battle of 

Bunker Hill, June 17, 1775. 

Sons of the men whose life-drops still 
Quicken the soil of Bunker Hill ; 
Sons of the men who dared to bleed 
For Philadelphia's Runnymede, 
Hear how the dying patriot's sword, 
Lost on the field, has been restored. 

Year after year the ploughshare rolled 
Over the sword a surf of mold. 
And dashed from prow of reaping fleet 
The summer corn, the winter wheat. 

The autumn rain, the winter frost 
Delved at the sword the soldier lost, 
And in the depths of earth profound 
Wrought the blind spinners of the ground ; 
Till — when the distaff's work was done, — 
All the bright threads of steel were spun, — 
The chemic weavers took the rust. 
Wove it amid the feebler dust. 
And mingled on the battle plain 
The lost sword with the harvest grain. 

'Twas this, — the iron in the bread — 
On which our heroes since have fed; 
That cried on dying Lawrence's lip: — 
"Don't, comrades, don't give up the ship!" 
That set the Constitution's sails; 
Built the quick scarp of cotton bales; 
That marched, with steadfast step and slow, 
23 



The weary leagues to Mexico, 
And nerving all the blood, with Dade 
Dyed the Floridian everglade: — 
The force and fire a man should feel, 
Tingling his blood — his father's steel! 

I hold — as did the ancients hold — 
That civic strife were best untold. 
But hear the cannons' music roar. 
Chanting the ritual of war, 
When unto Ares' altar went 
The states for Union's sacrament, 
When sang th' epithalamium through 
A million acolytes in blue. 

Sons of the men whose life-drops still 
Quicken the soil of Bunker's Hill, 
Go to his tomb who gave the bride ; — 
He sleeps on sacred Riverside; 
And — as the lily on her heart 
Writes the great name of Bonaparte, 
And clasp in mutual repose 
The flower of York — Lancaster's rose,— 
In a far nobler victory spare 
Some of the laurel bourgeoning there. 
And lay it where the palmetto weeps 
On graves where Southern valor sleeps. 

Sons of the men who dared to bleed 
For Philadelphia's Runnymede, 
By empire's starlight, moving West, 
Decipher now her palimpsest. 
Behold the wrecks of time's cyclone, — 
The ruined realms the wayside strewn. 
Learn how the ages past have fared 
Lest danger find us unprepared. 
24 



Lest some bold power move too far 
Towards our West his empire's star; 
Lest we should find a treacherous guest, - 
A viper in the eagle's nest, — 
Hissing with putrifying breath 
Some slimy, sinuous shibboleth; 
Lest from a swamp of lawless law 
Should crawl a peril none foresaw, 
Learn of the past; they are not blind 
Who face the dark with light behind. 

Sons of the men whose life blood still 
Quickens the soil of Bunker's Hill — 
Why, — of our number gathered here 
We'll find another Paul Revere, 
Before the armed wrong to ride, 
Crying: — "The sword is justified!" 
"To bid the long- roll beat again; 
"To rouse Columbia's Minute- Men." 

When the best logic is to feel. 
And subtlest reasoner — the steel. 
The Sons shall hear that mid-night cry, 
And for fHe right new Warrens die. 



25 



THEISS OF THE MONTEREY 

When the battle bugles play, 
And the battle-flags are flying, 

Mid mad music of the fray, 

'Tis not hard for soldiers — dying. 

But when none is there to tell 
Who would crave to dare or die? 

Who would face the fires of hell — 
Asking not — nor caring — why? 

It was but the other day 

One there was who knew not fear. 
On the war-ship, "Monterey," 

Theiss, the gallant engineer. 

His the best and bravest daring; 

When the war-ship's boiler burst. 
Not for gain or glory caring. 

He was in the death-cloud first. 

With the bravest volunteer 
Who has gone his hero's way, 

Rank him — Theiss, the engineer 
Of the war-ship, "Monterey." 

With his comrades of the crew. 
Strong of heart and firm of lip. 

While the death blast round them blew, 
There they stayed to save the ship. 

Of such stuff are heroes made; 

With a will they worked away; 
Life was duty, death their trade; 

But they saved the "Monterey." 
26 



Nail our banner to the mast; 

Of such spirits brave and bold, 
He was neither first nor last; — 

We've the metal and the mold ! 



27 



FIVE YEARS 

Arbitration — January nth, 1897 

Once more the skies o'erarching have thundered 
hope to man, 
And the murky clouds and solemn have broken 
for the light; 
Once more the ages marching to the mighty Cap- 
tain's plan 
Have wheeled in serried column to the morning 
and the right. 

Once more the sullen Furies to a new emotion 
thrill; 
Discomfited Abaddon crawls backward to his 
den; 
Loud the seraph's diapason, It is thus the laws ful- 

fii, 

While the hosts of glory gladden at the scratch- 
ing of a pen. 

The harpy and the condor from their cruel heights 
repine, 
And the jungle tigers tremble for the fate that 
they foresee. 
And wolf-men pause and ponder the march of the 
divine 
When Love need not dissemble and Hate shall 
hate to be. 

A flapping of the pinions that raise our fallen race, 
A step of Truth advancing in the great and glad 
campaign, — 
Hide now, O Hell, your minions in terror and dis- 
grace; 
Five years exult entrancing for the thousand that 
remain. 

28 



THE ISLANDER 

Upon this island star of space 

I hear the thundrous billows break; 

Strange scenes arise before my face; 
I start and stare — alive, awake. 

Far seaward glints a parting sail; — 

'Twas mine, 'twas mine, but how and when 

I cannot tell, for memories fail 
Of spirit things in lands of men. 

Was I the captain of the barque 

Whose crew rebelled and left me here? 

O silence, answer; tell, O Dark, 
Was I myself the mutineer?" 



29 



SONG OF THE MACHINE 

In the ancient days when neighbor 

Slew his neighbor for his lord, 
When the sullen slaves of labor 
Toiled to glut their master's hoard, 
In the midst of desolation, called by tyrants sweet 
accord. 

Suddenly appeared a giant, 
In full armor all arrayed, 
On his lip a song defiant, 
In his hand a battle blade. 
And he blew a blast of terror, making all the land 
afraid. 

I am come, it rang, unwilling 

Though the slaves I serve may be, 
I am come, the laws fulfilling. 
And I bid you yield to me, — 
I, the great Jehovah's envoy, I am come to set you 
free. 

Slowly then the monster stalking 

With a deft and deathly tread, — 
As the kestral swoops when hawking, — 
Where their humble board was spread, 
Fearless of a mortal's balking, laid his hand upon 
their bread. 

Up each man springs, bold and eager, 

To resist with tumult rude; 
Should a stranger take his meagre 
Portion of the toiler's food? 
In the midst of desolation should a giant's strength 
intrude? 

30 



While the women wept, bewailing, 
With their long, disheveled hair, 
While their tender hearts were failing, 
Pouring out unanswered prayer, 
Grieving for the little children that their nature 
bade them bear. 

Vain the struggle and defiance. 

And the weeping women's gloom; 
Not for nought God sends his giants 
To uplift his people's doom, 
Tho the frenzied mob of Lyons havoc wrought 
with Jacquard's loom. 

Tho the rider drive his rowel 
Into fierce Apollyon's flanks, 
And the lustful loom of Lowell 
Decimates our maiden's ranks, 
For the power of the giant to Jehovah be our 
thanks. 

When the fallacies that wrangle 
Overcome themselves and die. 
Truths shall rise like stars to spangle 
All the blue-black, arching sky. 
And the "thus" of Progress answers slowly all who 
question why? 

So the giant*s potent glances 

To the nations point the ways. 
And to-morrow's light advances 
With the waning of to-day's. 
Till the world grows glad and gladder for the 
might of yesterday's. 



31 



Till the toil of labor dwindles, 

And the giant's work is done, — 
All the reapers and the spindles 
By his mailed hand are run, 
Till a child shall touch a button for the throttle of 
the sun. 



z^ 



PART II 
DEVOTIONAL 



THE CHRIST 

When a pure and virgin mind, 

Free of rancor and of guilt, 
Feels its puny self resigned, 

Saying calmly, As thou wilt; 
In some fitting place and clime, 

In some great, immortal hour, 
In the fullness of all time, 

By o'ershadowing of Power — 

Then — immaculate and true, — 
Christ has been conceived for you. 

When the gift surpassing all, — 

Man or woman, wife or maid, — 
On the throne or in the stall, 

Has been reverently laid; 
When the hidden things grow plain, 

To thy majesty restored; 
When the Magi of the brain 

Bow before their conscious lord; 

Then indeed, Oh! then, for you 
Has been born the Christ — the true. 

These are they who cannot fail 

On their journey towards the light — 
They who gather in the vale 

Strength to climb the mountain height 
Patient age or earnest youth; — 

Ye who live to serve the true; 
Who would gladly die for truth. 

Know the Truth has died for you. 

Then indeed the Christ — the True — 
Has been crucified for you. 
35 



ANTHEM 

NO KING BUT GOD 

(Set to music by Harry Rowe Shelly, and sung by 

the Chorus at the Centenary of the close of 

the Revolution, Newburgh, N. Y., Oct. 

i8, 1883.) 

Once on this holy hill 
Rang out with mighty will 
A voice now cold and still 

Under the sod. 
Here where to-day we stand 
Our gallant fathers' band 
Proclaimed to all the land: — 

No King but God! 

Send forth that shout once more 
That echoed here of yore, 
Till every distant shore 

That e'er was trod 
Shall hear that olden cry, 
No tyrant shall come nigh; 
We will be free, or die — 

No King but God! 

Where Washington dashed down, 
With an indignant frown, 
Of old the royal crown 

And tyrant's rod. 
Here where we stand to-day. 
The young, the strong, the gray. 
We all arise and say: — 

No King but God! 

36 



"THEY HAVE TAKEN AWAY THE LORD" 

They came in the early morn, 

The tender sisters, to find him; 
They found but the linen clothes 

That he left in the tomb behind him. 
And one, seeing only the garb 

In which she had loving arrayed him, 
Cried, "They have taken the Lord, 

"And I know not where they have laid him." 

I go to the parish church, 

And my arms and my heart are reaching 
Forth for the crucified Christ, 

And I long for the good old preaching. 
But I seek in vain for the flock 

Who of old would have loved and obeyed him; 
"They have taken away my Lord, 

And I know not where they have laid him." 

They hail him King of the Jews, 

Or they mock and deny and deride him. 
Alas! there is none upon earth 

That I should desire beside him. 
They have taken him out of the heart, 

And in gorgeous purple displayed him ; 
"They have taken away my Lord, 

And I know not where they have laid him." 

They cry in the street from the dawn 

To the dark, "He is here; we have found him." 
I ask for the risen Christ, 

But they show me the linen that bound him. 
The infidel press and the men 

Who of old would have scourged or betrayed 
him 
"They have taken away my Lord, 

And I know not where they have laid him." 
Z1 



THE DAY OF JUDGMENT 

Now Azrael's trumpet is sounding 
The judgments of Fate to decide, 

And Power from coffers abounding 
The doom of the dead shall provide. 

Three thrones in that hideous hour 

Frown over a terrified host, 
Three spirits of infinite power — 

The God and the Christ and the Ghost. 

Here none can deny or dissemble, 

And none can avert or evade. 
And even the holiest tremble 

In fear of the law disobej^ed. 

The few who are called unto glory 
Are mocking the millions of shame, 

And boasting because of the story 
That saved by the mystical name. 

Though safe from the doom of immortals 

Condemned to eternity's loss; 
Though I came to the heavenly portals 

Serene with the sign of the cross, 

I feel to the depths of my being 
That judgment like this is unfair; 

With the ransomed I am not agreeing, 
But blush to be found with them there. 

With horror and piteous pleading 
I turn from the God and the Ghost. 

And call for the Christ's interceding 
For them who are needing it most, 

3? 



THE BLACK WOLF'S KEY 

I dwelt in a cot with my children three; — 
Children and cot were all that were mine; 

Healthy, and happy, and heartful were we, 

In the home hewed out of the haunts of pine. 

We had neighbors none, but a bad, bad one, 
Who told of the wolf while I delved away; — 

Never a worse day's work can be done 

Than a tongue can do with nothing to say. 

Better a mouth had been born dead-dumb 
If it call the beast from the haunts of pine; 

If ye tell of the wolf, why, the wolf will come, 
Tho' never before had been sound or sign. 

That night he came in the dismal dusk, 

And howled on the marge of the haunts of pine: 

"Come, give me fare, that I whet my tusk; 

Give up your children; they're mine; they're 
mine." 

I had laid me down on my pallet bed; 

Already asleep were my children three; 
"Come, hasten, I famish," the black wolf said, 

"Now hasten, and open the door for me." 

Then I got me up in the dismal dusk; — 
Oh, I got me up to the roof-tree, there — 

"Ha! ha! thou wolf, we are safe from thy tusk; 
Be famished or fat; we are not thy fare." 

"Ye cannot climb up the wall so steep; 

Y'e cannot get at my children three; 
So be ye famished; they'll bide asleep; 

The door is fast, and I've got the key." 

39 



The black wolf grinned a horrible grin — 
A horrible grin of fangs and foam — 

"Oh, never you fear but I can get in; 
I need no key to open your home. 

"But woe to the wight who gives not up 
At beck of the beast his children three; 

To show how easy it is to sup 

Now out of your hand I call the key." 

I had taken the key from off the shelf ; — 
Oh! I gripped it close; but a moment more, 

And out of my clutch it twisted itself; 

At the beck of the beast unlocked the door. 

"Ho! wolf, black wolf, take me instead; 

To die for love is fhe death to die; 
Ho! wolf, black wolf, and ye must be fed, 

I'll furnish the fare for you," quoth I. 

"Keep out, keep out of my open door; 

Come, eat ye of me, but spare ye mine." 
Now hail to the life of the evermore, — 

For the black wolf fled to the haunts of pine. 

O, chrisom children, for evermore 

Ye all shall live, wherever ye be; 
For I, who stand at the open door 

Of death and of hell have got the key! 



40 



THE CONTINUING CITY 

They laid me here a century ago,— 

In the grave-ground of the ancient parish. 

From the belfry 
Tolled the slow bell of solemn Trinity. 
They laid me here and missed me for awhile — 
The few who loved me. Then — not love grew 
cold. 

But Love's season, 
Having passed th' autumnal equinox, — 
The aftermath of memory gathered, — 
Ended in the winter of forgetfulness. 

From my low grave I've watched the city chang- 
ing, ^ . 
In its swift growth from lowly habitations; 

Ever growing 
Greater and grander and more beautiful. 
Till now I see the sordid world encroaching, 
O'ertop the spire of solemn Trinity, — 

Life's lustful greed, — 
The anti-Christ of tyranny and greed, — 
The anti-Christ of lust for power and gold, 
Dwarf the God-likeness of this sacred spot. 

Now ye who move are not unlike to me ; 
Your body is a spirit's sepulchre, 

Deeply hidden, 
Changeless, but ever changed, its habitation. 
For here is no continuing city; 
But events pass like a moving picture 

Before the soul: — 
The childish days, while the unconscious one 
Flits like a bee; — youth garnering thoughts, 
Manhood experience, old age regrets. 
41 



Ye tell me I am not and cannot do; — 
That yours is all the power and the will; — 

See the dead smile; 
For all the changes you yourselves have made 
Are wrought by them who long since have been 

dead ; — 
New combinations, — forms of art eternal, — 

Feel our dead hand 
Touching a lever in the ghostly past; 
Hear our mute voice — signal to future genera- 
tions — 
Calling and commanding them: — Arise! 



42 



IN HIS PRINCELY PLACE 

When the royal One was born, 
Child of Mary, mother maid, 

On this white and wintry morn 
In the lowly manger laid, — 

He was in his princely place, 

Lord and lover of our race. 

Through the life he lived alone. 

Mocked and feared, betrayed, denied, 

Lifted on the cruel throne 

Where for love of man he died, — 

He was in his princely place. 

Lord and lover of our race. 

Through the ages of the past 

While the mold was shaped and made 
For the perfect image cast, 

God in man, tho long delayed, — 
He was in his princely place, 
Lord and lover of our race. 

Through the ages swift or slow, 

On the further fairer side. 
In the gloom or in the glow, 

Whether crowned or crucified, — 
He shall keep his princely place. 
Lord and lover of our race. 

When the phantoms of our doubt 
One by one are stilled or slain. 

All the cunning thieves cast out 
From the temple of the brain, — 

He shall keep his princely place, 

Lord and lover of our race. 
43 



When the cruel thoughts we think 
Shall give room to truths we know 

When on time's remotest brink, 
To his greatness man shall grow, 

He shall keep his princely place, 

Lord and lover of our race. 



44 



CITY OF THE STRANGER'S GATE 

'Twas night when Christ and his disciples came 
Unto the city of the Stranger's gate: — 

"Now lead thou us," said Peter; "By thy name 
We walk;" but Jesus said: "We wait." 

They tarried by the gate, till thro the gloom 
A torch-light sparkled in the distance dim : 

"Behold our guide," said Jesus, "to illume 
Our way. Arise ; we follow him." 

The torch drew near. Then the disciples knew 
That he who bore it was a publican ; 

And they said: "Oh, Master, is it true 
Thou wilt be guided by so base a man?" 

Then answered Christ: "Oh, pitiful and strange; 

How^ long, how sad the weary way must be 
Till the world's heart shall find its heavenly change 

And know My Father's Soul that lives in me." 

"I am the word I told ye long ago; 

Hear once again the message in the night; 
Follow thou Me. And yet on earth below, 

'Tis not the man ye follow, but the light." 



45 



THE USURPER'S ASSASSIN 

Yes, it was true; I died and found it true; 
There was a god, imperial one of all. 
Before his throne I stood, by demons led, 
And manacled with gyves of sophistry. 
And heard him ask in awful thunder tones, 
Had I believed in Jesus upon earth. 

And when I answered : Nay, I never did ; — 

Not as a god, but as a man like me, — 

A man who lived and loved, suffered and died for 

truth, 
God's face grew grave. Go hence, he fiercely said, 
And tarry where departed spirits stay. 
Worthy or worthless, still the archangel's trump. 

I bowed my head. 'Tis futile to resist 
Resistless power. And yet, O, God, I said, 
Thou, knowing all things know'st I loved the 

true, — 
So loved I Jesus. Dost thou dare to damn 
That sort of lover? If thou dost I go 
Following Jesus — crucified for truth. 

But God said nothing, and around his throne 
The choired seraphs chanted forth his praise. 
Heard I their music as I sped away. 
Dragged forth from Paradise, whilst devils grinned, 
And leered and mocked and whispered in my ear: 
Too late, too late. Earth was the place of fate. 

Far from the halls of bright Alcyone I dwelt 

A myriad ages. Can I tell to flesh of fleshless 

things. 
Of spirits disenthralled? Nay, 'tis impossible. 

46 



Afar I dwelt, and toiled and learned my task. 
Oh! I was patient, waiting, hoping still, 
And ever frugal, saving thought for use. 

The cycles sped. But every day and hour 
New denizens came in — th' innumerable dead, — 
P'rom every star and planet of the immeasurable 

void. 
And from my home on earth — came mournful in, 
All manacled with thoughts. In dire despair 
They dropped their chains. I saved them every one. 

And whilst the throng in helpless, hopeless shape. 

Dallied with destiny and scowled at chance. 

In the recesses of my indignant soul 

I lit the fires of reason, built a forge, 

And after ages of the weariest work, 

Fashioned a dagger wrought from thoughts of men. 

When it was done I hid it underneath 

The mantle of my soul, and waited still, 

Waited and watched for freedom — that great right 

Of free-born souls that not e'en death, 

Nor demons, fires of hell, nor God 

Himself dare trifle with nor take. 

Then the time came (for howsoever watched 
And guarded, bolts nor bars, nor any power 
Can stay the righteous spirit in its flight) 
Forth through the abyss of space I flew. 
Armed with my dagger on and on and on, 
Till in the heart of Paradise I stood 
Once more before the throne of Deity. 

God sat unconscious, dealing out their doom 
To countless new immortals — maids and men. 
47 



To all he asked that question, full of fate, 
Had they loved Jesus? Oh! the wails that mixed 
With the angelic chorus would have moved 
Th' insensate rock. They did far more; — they 
moved a soul. 

That soul was mine. Oh! God, I cried, relent; 
Forego thy wrath and let thy children live! 
And when God would not, all at once leaped up 
The dagger I had forged, and of itself 
Sprang from my grasp and hurtled 'gainst God's 

heart, 
And smote him on his throne, and there he died. 

The wails and music ceased, and for a time 
A mighty silence. In the holy hush 
(So vast I heard a child who prayed for light 
In the far Earthland) rose a sweet fond voice, 
Saying: My brother, welcome, welcome here — 
Brother Redeemer, thou canst love me now. 

For he who sat upon my father's throne 
Was an usurper, crowned by rebel man : 
Satan his name, — not God — for in my heart 
He reigns, in thine, and in the hearts of all 
Who love and trust and serve and follow truth, — 
For faith in Truth was ever faith in God. 

Then seraphs came, and angels bright and pure, — 
All the innumerable hosts of Heaven — 
Brought forth the royal diadem, and crowned 
Jesus the God-man to his throne restored. 
So Power fulfilled what love of Truth began, 
And universal mercy reigned and peace. 



48 



IMMORTALITY 

Forget the craft of creeds at strife, 
Nor fear what death may give; 

He surest holds immortal life 
If what he leaves shall live. 



49 



PROGRESS 

Swiftly now the shadow gathers 
Over creeds we held so true — 

On the faith that served our fathers 
And the hope that once we knew. 

Though our olden forms surprising 
With an aspect fierce and strange, 

Truth advances, ever rising 
To a freer, nobler range. 

Timid dwellers in the valley 
At the shadow shrink dismayed, 

Or, like slavish Romans, rally 

For the Vandals' torch and blade; 

But to braver souls and stronger. 
Further up the mountain height. 

All the shadows growing longer 
Only prove advancing light. 



50 



PART III 

MYSTIC, METAPHYSICAL AND INTEL- 
LECTUAL 



LEFT WITH THE FLOWERS 

The country graveyard was overgrown, 
Grasses and weeds and flowers and ferns, 

Over the crumbling prayers in stone. 
Clambering over the quaint old urns, 

Clambering over the mounds of clay. 

Flowers and vines were all at play. 

Hark! And all at once they were still; 

They heard a rattling over the hill. 

The brown leaves fell and a cold wind blew; 

The gates of the graveyard opened wide; 
A little white hearse ('Twas a child had died) 

A little white hearse came rattling through. 
So long it had been since a grave was made, 

What a grave was for the flowers forgot; 
The wild-rose lifted her head in the shade. 

Crept close to the aster Forget-me-not, 
And wondering all and half afraid, 

They heard the crumbling prayers of breath ; 

Heard for the first time talk of death. 

Because it was only a baby had died 
No one there but its mother cried; 
But she — the only one in the crowd — 
She could not pray, but she sobbed aloud. 
Her tears fell fast on the sweet dead face, 
Holding it close in a last embrace. 

The wild-rose looked in timid surprise; 
The daisy lifted its wondering eyes. 
The flowers heard what the preacher said; 
They thought they knew what it meant to be dead, 
And death to them, they could not doubt. 
Was hardly a matter to grieve about, 
53 



"Have you forgot," said the golden-rod, 
"All that the preacher said about God?" 
The aster sighed: — " 'Tis a wonderful thing. 
Did no one tell him about the spring?" 

After a while a stone was put 
On the little grave, and a prayer was cut — 
A pitiful, crumbling prayer in stone, — 
Where the baby was left with the flowers alone- 
Left with the flowers (Oh! wonderful thing 
That even a mother should fret or fear, 
Knowing the round of God's great year,) 
Left with them to await the spring! 



54 



THE CAVERN OF THE ENCHANTED 
TRUTHS 

In a cavern domed with blue, 
Lit by light shafts piercing through, 
Columns hold th' entablature 
Of the caverned corridor. 

Far along the trodden floor, 

Gliding as on waterways, 
Noiseless down the corridor 

Come the truths of other days. 
One by one at Duty's call 
They have left their pedestal. 
Peaceful and invincible. 

Long they waited for their hour, 
For th' awak'ning call of Power; 

One by one they joined the plan 

Of the destiny of man. 
Joyous, beautiful are they 
Marching on their perfect way. 

Silence yet unbroken lies 
O'er the future's mysteries; 
But on either side the path. 

On the way that all must tread, 
In stark semblance of death, 

Sit the truths that are not dead: 

Mighty thoughts that yet must be, 
Waiting for the wakening wand, — 

For the word to set them free, 
Sometime in the vast beyond — 

In the caverned corridor 

Waiting God's ambassador. 
55 



Placid shapes or forms of ire, 
Armed with the arms of fire; 
Staring eyes that never saw, 

Open h'ps that never spake; 
Such as wait th' eternal law, 
Underneath the azure arch 
Wait to join the joyous march, 

When Power shall cry: — Awake! 



56 



MY SOUL 

With God's crown upon my head 
Here I reign in royal red. 
None hath ever seen my face, 
Entered in my holy place; 
Yet my courtiers bring me here 
Tidings from my far frontier, — 
Ear that hears and eye that sees — 
Tribute of my satrapies. 

Though I speak in sibyl speech. 
Simple souls my marvels teach. 
Some day in the future hid. 
Of these tawdry trappings rid, 
I shall leave this paltry state, 
I shall pass my palace gate, 
I shall seek a brave renown, — 
Take the sword, but keep the crown. 

With the arms my faith has skilled. 
With the ranks my ardor thrilled: — 
Barren wastes I decked with corn, 
Hearts made glad I found forlorn, 
Doles that 'minished my scant hoard, 
Hopes astray to truth restored. 
Lowly worms I would not tread. 
Words of passion left unsaid; 

These invincible shall wait 
Marshalled at my palace gate. 
Wondrous regions unexplored 
Yet shall hail me as their lord. 
I shall seek a mightier marge, 
I shall see my realm enlarge, 
I shall win a brave renown, — 
Take the sword, but keep the crown. 
57 



OUT OF THE GREAT TRIBULATION 

The ages bred the monster that the godly man 
might breathe; 
A union of strange elements discordant filled the 
air; 
For the fruitage of the vineyards all the red vol- 
canoes seethe, 
And the foul things and the foolish for the good 
and wise prepare. 

Fear not, the hosts of happiness have wrought their 
best for men; 
The pestilence and famine and the cobra's deadly 
tooth 
Are but the forge's sparkles that wrought the 
plough and pen — 
The chipping of the marble for the lovely form 
of Truth. 

From the slime of black morasses are the whitest 
lilies grown; 
By the manger in Judea was the Lord of Loving 
born; 
And the jewel sparkling clearest on the brow upon 
the throne 
Was the drop of blood that trickled from the 
sharp and savage thorn. 

Fear not, O weary mortal, nor let your heart dis- 
may 
When the evil is exalted, and the right is thrust 
aside 
For the conquest and the victor take a grander, 
greater way. 
And the throne is on the scaffold when the king 
is crucified. 

58 



THE SEAL 

By the mighty hand of Power, 
On the scroll of the molten rocks, 

With the awful earthquake's stylus, 
In the script of the Equinox, 

God wrote his wonderful message, 
To serve while time should last, 

To tell to the future ages 
Of them that made the past. 

And when the message was written 
God took the seal of his plan, 

And stamped on the wax of nature 
His likeness — the image of man. 

Would'st know the wondrous meaning, 
O, Seal, of the power impressed? 

Would'st thou read the ancient language 
Of the infinite palimpsest? 

Beware, O, curious mortal! 

(It was God himself who spoke) 
How canst thou read my message 

Till the seal I have set be broke? 



59 



THE ARGONAUT 

Forth from thy wharves, city of greed and rancor, 

Of pride and wrath, 
I set the sail, and slip the rusted anchor 

For the pathless path. 

I know the bearings of the land Forever 

Beyond our sleep ; 
There is a harbor for the barque Endeavor — 

Across the deep. 

There, In the haven that my soul awaited, 

I'll disembark, 
With the rich cargo that these shores have 
freighted — 

To sail the dark. 



60 



ASTEROID 

Round and round upon the track 
Of the circling Zodiac 
Coursed the runners, — planets seven 
In the Olympiad of Heaven. 

There the mighty-minded Greek, 
Feeble-visioned vainly seek 
For the planet of the void, — 
For the missing asteroid. 

In the old Athenian school, 
By the epicycle's rule, — 
All in vain they sought, for yet 
'Gainst the star no lens was set. 

Boys, dear boys, I love you so; 
Yet there's love you cannot know. 
Years ago, but not to stay. 
Came a sister, for a day. 

As the mighty-minded Greek 
For my missing star I seek ; 
And I call the darkness through: — 
Darling! darling! where are you? 

While I seek through all the void 
For my missing asteroid. 
And my longing eyes in vain 
For a glimpse of glory strain ; 

While the hideous blank of death 
Only mocking answereth, 
And I turn in dumb despair 
That my darling is not there; 
6i 



I remember — Yet, Oh! yet, 
Sometime shall the lens be set. 
Oh! my baby. Oh! my star! 
Darling! darling! There you arc! 



62 



THE NATURAL BODY 

Root from which the flow'r has blown ; 
Nest from which the bird has flown; 
Prison pen whose walls are scaled ; 
Port from which the soul has sailed. 



63 



IN THE GARDEN OF GOD 

"Maker and keeper of life," cried the rose to the 
sun, 
Let it always be day; 
Let me dwell in thy light; send the cloud and the 
rain. 
And the darkness away." 

"Give me wings that I rise from this close-clinging 
mold 

That thy glory impedes; 
That I live in thy light, lift me up to thy height, 

And away from the weeds." 

"Nightfall and rainfall are mine," — said the sun 
to the rose, 
"And the close clinging mold. 
In the dark and the damp there my angels en- 
camp, — 
There thy wings shall unfold." 

"Rebel, incredulous rose in the garden of God, 

Knowing not how to pray. 
With disdain for the light and the height in the 
rain. 

And the dark, and the clay." 



64 



ALCYONE 

On the banner of the sky 
Stars of h'ght unnumbered lie. 
Unto one — O! king of these — 
Monarch of the Pleiades, 
Thought a moment rests on thee — 
Hail. O, king Alcyone. 

While our planet sweeps around — 
In Orion's bondage bound, 
Now in chilly dark arrayed — 
Death the winter, sin the shade; 
Turned away from thy delight 
'Tis our winter; 'tis our night. 

Yet thy summer glows afar 

On some better favored star. 

As the Arab poet saw 

Love shine thro the mists of law, 

So again a poet sees 

Influence of the Pleiades. 

Sees a star with sure redress 

For our earthly heartlessness ; 

In whose realm the faith is sure — 

All the longings great and pure — 

Somewhere, somewhere, — this I know, 

Love, thy summer glories glow. 

In the rays of reason we 
Live, O, Love, in hope of thee. 
Turn, O, wondrous cycle, turn; 
Let thy glory o'er us burn ; 
We are weary, thou slow-paced ; 
To our summer haste, O! haste. 

65 



SLEEP 

From yard to yard the sails are spread; 

The pilot holds the willing wheel ; 
Between the far blue overhead 

And blue below now slips the keel. 

Masthead ahoy! A sail! a sail! 

Swift speeding comes a flying bow; — 
Close, closer, near, now on the rail, 

A stalwart ghost commands us now. 

His bosen's whistle pipes a blast; 

Starboard and port, and fore and aft; 
From yard and deck, from bow and mast, 

Captain and crew give up the craft. 

Then on and on we reckless go, 
Heedless of shoal or looming lee; — 

'Twixt blue above and blue below 
The guiding ghost steers o'er the sea. 



66 



EVOLUTION 

O, Brain disdain your reasons old! 

O, Heart, be strong and free! 
Whoever told the cold brown mold 

Of blossoms yet to be? 

O, Heart and Brain, be undismayed! 

Forego your long dispute; 
The power that made the blossoms fade 

Can bring the ripening fruit. 



67 



THE BABES OF THEMIS 

In the oriel window on the street 

A fair j^oung mother holds her baby sweet, 

Her dear first-born arrayed in lawn and lace,- 

A smiling future and a smiling face. 

Beneath the window, on the torrid street, 
A wretched woman wanders in the heat, 
Holding a wan white baby, her disgrace — 
A scowling future and a scowling face. 

Unseen between them is a phantom fair, 
Whose robe is love, whose home is everywhere. 
Scales in her hand she sits with blinded eyes. 
And smiles and scowls and squanders — or denies. 

(), childless goddess, shall it ever be 
The human mother-heart unknown to thee? 
Hark! From the cloud I hear a voice divine: — 
"Mortal, be silent, both the babes are mine." 



68 



POLARIS 

Truth is a circle; the soul an arc, 
Holding the helm of this mortal barque, 
Sailing over the fathomless brine 
Of the sea of the world for a port divine. 

The foolish pilot may drop the lead 
In the unfathomed sea, but overhead 
Is the mighty North that I know is mine, 
To guide me over the trackless brine. 

The clouds of night are dark and wet. 
Strap the helm! Let the sails be set. 
Clouds may curtain the northern star; 
But safe in the ship I sail afar. 

The night is dark; but Polaris' fire 
Unseen discloses my soul's desire. 
And fearing nothing, I sail afar — 
In the midst of the ship I bear the star. 



69 



PART IV 
HUMOROUS 



SPRINKLED RHYMES 

A man I knew, when the weather was hot, 

Held over his head a wateringpot. 

And sprinkled himself and growled for an hour, 

And fancied it all was a thunder shower, 

Till, when he was tired, he said: "Now there! 

The trouble I've taken will cool the air." 

So many a rhymster oft mistakes 

For Olympus's thunder the noise he makes; 

With watery words he'll take such pains 

That some are persuaded it really rains. 

What a pity it is! for one despairs 

That the trouble he takes will cool his airs. 



73 



A SEPTEMBER IDYL 

They sat close as could be 
'Neath the shade of a tree — 

An apple, with fruit heavy laden, — 
A young man, city bred, 
With some "cults" in his head, 

And a simple and practical maiden. 

With a look of despair 
The youth rumpled his hair, 

And quoth — after quoting some Byron — 
"Hear the winds sigh and moan 
As the tree boughs are blown, 

Like lost spirits whom tortures environ.' 

But the girl had a charm 

(For she lived on a farm) 
That with such silly sentiment grapples :- 

"Yes," she said, "that is true, 

And you'd sigh and moan too 
If you were as full of green apples." 



74 



PUZZLED. 

Oh! what shall I do? I'm lost and lone, 
The fancies of childhood all outgrown ; 
Life is a riddle and living a bore ; 
I do not believe in things any more. 

I've guessed and guessed till I'm tired out 
Till I'm tired of lies, and tired of doubt; 
Tired of things that I can't explain, 
And tired of things absurdly plain. 

I will not guess nor think any more; 
I will look behind instead of before; 
I'll be as stupid as I can be, 
And somebody else shall guess for me. 



75 



CHARACTER 

High temper, guided by high wit, 
Can load and aim and fire and hit. 

But anger really nothing foils, 

The shoulder's hurt, the piece recoils. 

Or the charge fizzles, — nothing's done 
But miss the mark or burst the gun. 



76 



AMBITION 

At ten years old, or somewhat later, 
Tom Smith resolved to be dictator; 
But at fifteen was quite content 
With being one day president. 

At twenty all his mind was set 

On Congress or the cabinet. 

At thirty — having grown much wiser — 

He sought the place of supervisor. 

He had (and paid for) an ovation, 

But failed to get the nomination. 

'Twas then, with politics disgusted. 
With temper riled and wallet busted. 
He sought the post of an inspector 
Of Customs from the Port Collector. 

He's sixty now, and one may wager 
That he will die a simple gager. 



77 



SIGNS AND WONDERS 

When first to keeping house we went, 

My wife and I agreed 
My part should be providing cash, 

And hers providing feed. 

I like good living. Who does not? 

My wife has sense enough; 
But somehow, almost every time, 

We found the turkey tough. 

I never sneered, much less reproached. 

But always blamed the knife. 
Or called the marketman a cheat; — 

That's how to treat a wife. 

One day, not feeling very well. 

She asked, — would I prefer 
To have for dinner corn-beef hash, 

Or buy a fowl for her. 

Said I, — "My dear, you know so much, — 

So ignorant am I, — 
Please tell me so I'll understand. 

What sort of fowl to buy." 

Then Helen (That's her pretty name) 

Explained in some detail 
The way to tell a tender bird — 

A way that couldn't fail. 

"You feel his breast," she said, "and then 
You twist his wing just once — " 

So she went on to tell about 
A lot of other stunts. 

78 



I did not sneer, — some husbands do ; — 
I have known those who swore, — 

Nor did I ask her why her way 
Had failed so oft before. 



The marketman smiled sweetly. "Sure, 

I've got the bird you need. 
Just feel his breast and twist his wing;— 

Fine turkey, sir, indeed." 

Said I, — *'Not so, friend marketman. 

Take one good look at me. 
Feel if you like my dogged jaw, 

My Roman nose you see." 

A wild expression crossed his face; 

I saw the sweet smile cease. 
It seemed at first he'd twist my nose. 

Or call for the police. 

"Those signs," I quickly added, "mean 
The man who keeps his word. 

I want a tender turkey, so 
I'll let you choose the bird." 

"If all goes right, I'll buy of you, 

Nor try the other men; 
But if your turkey turns out tough, 

I'll never come again." 

The smile went back. So did that bird, 

At once upon his hook. 
From somewhere else that marketman 

A tender turkey took. 



79 



Since then — 'Twas many years ago- 
The task's been mine to buy; 

The turkeys never have been tough- 
And Helen wonders why! 



80 



BURGLAR ALARMS 

Most of the dwellers on our street 

(Including me, the bard) 
Last summer stayed through all the heat 

Because the times were hard. 

The Hotchkisses (who lived next door) 
Had closed their house and left 

Burglar alarms on every floor 

To guard their goods from theft. 

'Twas late one pleasant sultry night, 
When with a grewsome clang. 

That gave us — one and all — a fright. 
All those alarm bells rang! 

Then we upon the porch ran down. 

And those within ran out; 
'Twas quite unusual in our town, 

But burglars; — none could doubt. 

While we all gazed at Hotchkiss's door 
Until the clang should cease. 

Round the adjacent comer tore 
Two of our brave police. 

We all were brave enough, no doubt 

To face the awful din. 
And yet somehow we stopped without 

And let the cops go in. 

Five minutes — ten — on went the sound , 

The police reappeared; 
No trace of burglars had they found. 

And they were plainly "queered." 
8i 



With faces ghastly white, their looks 
Made plain a "state of mind;" 

In short, they laid the noise to "spooks," 
And left their wits behind. 

"Spooks nothing!" spoke a piping voice, 
"Ye're way off from yer base;" 

'Twas Pat, our little grocery boy, 
Pat, of the smiling face. 

"It aint no burglars neither, man; 

That burglar game's a skin; 
'Twas only Jimmy Madigan; — 

He done it wid a pin." 

Then Patsey ambled down the way, 

Towards the area door. 
And showed what made the button stay, 

And caused the grewsome roar. 

The neighbors all praised little Pat, — 

Who answered with a grin; 
The police snarled : "Get out o' that. 

Or we will run yez in." 



We read — in lots of magazines — 

Of "science" just begun; 
Of wondrous "psychic" ways and means. 

Of marvels told and done. 

I am not one to sneer or scoff 

At frauds I can't expose; 
I wait, — when these alarms go off — 

Till some one comes who knows. 

82 



Be wise, — you ''psychologic" sharp, 
And take this precept in: — 

The "spook's" some Jimmy Madigan, 
Who "done it" with a pin! 



83 



THE SAME OLD CHOICE 

Now thanks be praised, at last we know 
Where both the parties stand, 

As with their ballots forth they go 
To save their native land. 

For morals one goes forth to slay, 

And eke for labor too, 
To make a Yankee Sabbath day 

Where all the laws are blue. 

For labor now the others go, 

And eke for morals' sake, 
To let the liquor freely flow 

And lawless laws to make. 

The same old grind comes round again; 

The same old parties come ; 
The same old choice for honest men 

'Twixt tweedledee and dum. 



84 



COOPERATION 

With transportation rates so great, 
And produce price so small, 

The farmer found — unhappy fate — 
He did not thrive at all. 

** 'Tis better you should go away," 

He told his hired man ; 
"I can no longer wages pay; 

I'll shift as best I can." 

Then said the man with beaming face: 

"Do nothing half so rash; 
I'll take a mortgage on your place. 

And never ask for cash." 

'Twas so agreed ; the years rolled round ; 

The farmer prosperous grew, 
Till at the end of five he found 

His man had prospered too. 

For then it was, his wage to pay. 

The man he hired chose 
To let the farmer go aw^ay, 

The mortgage to foreclose. 

"Why be," the farmer said, "so rash? 

I'll tell you what I'll do— 
A mortgage take — not asking cash — 

And stay and work for you." 

Now each five years they alternate. 

Whoe'er the farm did own, 
Farmer and man cooperate. 

And both have prosperous grown. 

85 



HOW MAN CAME TO BE LORD OF 
CREATION 

Adam and Eve their first day spent 

In comfort and in great content. 

Until at last the sun sank low, 

When Adam cried, — "I told you so; 

I said the sun would not stick fast — 

That times were quite too good to last." 

The sun went down. Poor little Eve 

Began at once to weep and grieve. 

"Shut up," bawled Adam, "Come, let's run; 

We must make haste and catch the sun." 

Said Eve unto her stouter mate, — 

"I think perhaps we'd better wait; 

You know experience we lack; 

No doubt the sun will soon come back." 

But Adam gave his head a toss, 

And scowled: "Remember I am boss." 

So of? they set, as Adam guessed 

(While poor Eve trusted him) due west. 

On on they ran, the man and mate. 

Along a line he thought was straight. 

But as folks will who compass lack. 
They turned about upon their track. 
Till, when poor Eve was almost dead, 
They saw a glimmer far ahead; 
And when their strength had almost ceased, 
Saw the sun rising — in the east. 
"What did I tell you?" Adam cried; 
" 'Tis well on me that you relied; 
'Tis well indeed all night we've run ; 
Now see at last we've caught the sun." 

86 



PART V 
JUVENILE 



NAN'S WHITE WORLD 

At our window on the hill, 
Sometimes talking, sometimes still, 
Sat my little girl and I 
Looking at the wintry sky. 
While the breath of frosty air 
Swung the maples brown and bare, 
And across the valley rolled 
All the moonbeams' wealth of gold, 
Touching with a wondrous glow 
Hill and valley robed in snow. 

Winters two and summers three, 
Wise a baby could not be, 
So she asked me there that night: — 
What makes all the world so white? 
Of the moonlight and the cold, 
And the snowy world I told. 
Now the world seems white to you, 
Little Nan with heart so true, 
And the rays of wonder throw 
Only glory on the snow. 

Yet beyond the mountains tall 
Long black shadows eastward fall. 
When my baby lies asleep 
O'er the earth those shadows creep. 
Though your father's arms divide 
Warmth within from cold outside, 
Soon enough the gold is lost 
In the shadow and the frost, 
For your baby footsteps go 
Soon enough across the snow. 



89 



Long we cannot linger still 
At our window on the hill. 
By what trouble, at what cost 
Shall your own white world be lost? 
Trouble comes — oh! come it will — 
In some valley deep and chill; 
By what mountain, in what spot 
It shall meet you know I not; 
By what shadow overcast 
Shall the glory go at last? 

When the shadows eastward fall, 
"Father! Father!" you may call. 
When the bitter tears shall rain, 
You may call, and call in vain. 
In your trouble if I hear, 
I will come and help you, dear. 
Though in vain you call to me, 
Where your straying feet may be. 
There is One who watches still. 
At His window, on His hill. 



90 



CLEMATIS 

Over the cottage porch, and around 

The lattice windows a-near the ground, 

Drooping low, like a bridal veil. 

Clematis burgeoned with blossoms pale. 

When the day was warm and the air was still. 

It gleamed like a beacon upon the hill. 

Of its pallid blossoms the wind made use 

To flaunt and flutter its flag of truce. 

And the sentinel flower's perfume rare 

Challenged the darkness: — "Who comes there?" 

This year with Clematis foolish May, 
Because she was jealous, would not play. 
Winter perhaps had been too severe, 
Or April spoiled this child of the year; 
For all of a sudden May grew cold; 
She whispered low to the dun-brown mold; 
She called to the cloud: — ''Refrain! Refrain! 
"Nor kiss the vine with your gladdening rain 
So the children of Nature danced away, 
Resolved with Clematis not to play. 

Clematis, grieved by the mocking tune, 
Buried her face in the lap of June. 
But after the summer had passed away 
September, sister to foolish May, 
To little, troubled Clematis came; 
She said to the children: — Oh! for shame! 
She plead with the sun; the dew-drops told; 
She whispered low to the dun-brown mold; 
She called to the cloud: — "Again, again. 
Come kiss the vine with your lips of rain." 



91 



Then all through October brave and bright, 
Clematis burgeoned with tufts of white. 
The banners of truce came flaunting then; 
The beacon gleamed on the hill again, 
And the sentinel flower's perfume rare 
Challenged the darkness: — "Who comes there?" 
But jealous now was the dun-brown mold; 
The lips of rain of the cloud were cold ; 
Cold was the wind and cold was the sun; 
Playtime was over; the wrong was done. 

I wonder when out of her window. May 
Shall see the trouble she made in play. 
If tears — vain tears — of regret shall flow 
Because of the doing of long ago. 
Then pity poor May, and pity us all 
Who mourn for mischief beyond recall. 
September can never for May be true, 
Nor age the doing of youth undo. 



92 



BUMBLE WORDS 

Once on a time, as I understand, 
There lived a race — a peculiar band, — 
The little people of Funnyland. 

They were indeed a singular folk, 
For every time that anyone spoke, 
A word amiss — if only in joke, 

Out of their mouths, as all agree, 

(Don't you wish you'd been there to see?) 

There flew a terrible bumble-bee. 

Whenever was said a saucy word. 
Whenever a grumbling sound was heard. 
This very wonderful thing occurred; 

And the bumble-bee would fly away. 
With nothing to do the livelong day 
But sting the children and spoil their play. 

And Oh! whenever the children lied. 

Of a sudden their mouths would open wide, — 

A terrible buzzing be heard inside, — 

And out the bumble-bees would come, 
A swarm at a time, with a horrible hum, 
Stinging the little people dumb. 

They not only stung the lass or lad, 
Whichever it was had been so bad, 
But all the others; 'twas very sad. 



93 



Now what should Funnyland children do, 
Stung by bumble-words black and blue? 
Stop saying the words, I think, don't you? 

So please remember that thoughts are things, 
And bumble-words have terrible stings, 
When they fly away with words for wings. 



94 



THE LAND OF UPSIDE DOWN 

A little girl lived in Funnytown, 

In the curious country of Upsidedown. 

She had hair on her feet and toes on her head, 

And never in all her life went to bed; 

For (vv^ould you believe such a thing could occur?) 

The bed had a habit of coming to her. 

She had plenty to eat, but grew quite stout 

Because of dainties she went without. 

And what do you think those dainties were? — 

And what of a girl who would prefer 

To let a saucer of ice cream spoil 

While she begged for more of the castor-oil ? 

There were lots of other curious things: 
The birds had hoofs and the horses wings; 
There were Maltese cows and Alderney cats. 
And folks wore rubbers in place of hats; 
The water was dry and the fire was wet, — 
The queerest country that ever was yet. 



95 



LITTLE COLUMBUS 

With mamma's loving kisses blest 
The little ship went sailing west — 
From DrOwsy-port across the deep 
Of night's mysterious ocean-sleep, 
Saluted from the loving fort 
Of mamma's lips in Drowsy-port: — 
Good night! Good night! 

So sailed the little craft away 
To the new continent of day, 
With mamma (blessings be for her) 
To speed the morn's discoverer, 
Saluted from the loving fort 
Of those dear lips in Drowsy-port; 
Good night! Good night! 



96 



"TO MAKE YOU WISE" 

I saw some children the other day 
Out In the garden hard at play; 
And by the window curtains hid, 
I watched what the little children did. 

They sat in a row on the summer grass, 
And one, the oldest, a pretty lass. 
Said, "Open your mouth and shut your eyes, 
I'll give you something to make you wise." 

So, — mouth wide open and eyes tight shut. 
Into each little mouth was something put; — 
Something that everyone liked quite well — 
Some candy, I guess, or a caramel; 

For each little one when it had its bite. 
Jumped up laughing in great delight. 
If it hadn't been good they'd been wry-faced 
And it doesn't require good sight to taste. 

What a pity it is as we older grow 
That we can't go on trusting the others so; 
That we older ones, if we would be wise, 
"Must shut our mouth and open our eyes." 



97 



THE CRITICS 

Would you be a poet? — 
Write as heart dictates; — 

Never stop to reason ;-r- 
He will fail who waits. 

When your verse is finished 
Read it to your chum; 

He will say most likely; — 
"Bully boy, by gum!" 

Show it to your mother, 
She will weep and praise ; — 

''Son, I ne'er expected 
Rapture like to-day's." 

Show it to your sister. — 
Will she praise you? No; 

She'll be madly jealous 
For her scribbling beau. 

Let your teacher see it, * 

He will growl; — "I guess 

Boys with an afflatus 
Seldom reach success." 

Give it to your father 
(If you've got the gall) ; 

He will say; — *'You're not so 
Stupid after all." 

Give it— No, I'm hasty, — 

Try to sell, I mean; 
Send it, neatly copied, 

To some magazine. 

98 



Editors have wisdom — 
That's well understood ;- 

If they pay cash for it 
Then it's really good. 



Q9 



RECOGNITION 

Did they know him ? Not at first- 
Not at first and not for long, 

Tho the early strain that burst 
Was his best and bravest song. 

Now you know him, go and find- 
Go and find and tell him so; — 

Tell him one at least was blind 
To have seen and not to know. 



100 



UCT 31 191? 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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